


Breaking the Habit

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, DTR, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Marijuana, Pining, Rimming, Tech Bro Crowley, Weed Dealer Aziraphale, aka defining the relationship with your weed guy, i do try to establish this in fic but also this fic is 2k so how well do i do? idk you tell me, sex while high, soft pining tho, they live in america but are british
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29070897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: It wasn’t that they were dating. It was just that Crowley spent the weekend (every weekend) at Aziraphale’s apartment. So what if he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else and hadn’t in nearly a year? Life as a project manager in IT was hectic. He travelled a lot and was busy with work.They were just good friends.Aziraphale was just his weed guy.And sometimes they fucked.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 522





	Breaking the Habit

**Author's Note:**

> hello! They have sex while high in this fic! So if that squicks you please do not proceed!
> 
> Highly inspired by [these](https://jb612.tumblr.com/post/641615966087856128/its-book-omens-week-allow-me-to-share-my-very) great tech bro crowley sketches from jb612 for book omens week

This wasn’t _why_ Crowley came here, but it was certainly a perk.

Aziraphale’s hands snuck up under his henley, over his hip bones before careful fingers snagged in the tight waistband of his jeans. “Unzip for me, my dear.”

Head falling back against the arm of the sofa, Crowley’s back arched as he obeyed. He loved this. He liked getting high in Aziraphale’s back room. Work was always work, work, work. He told people what to do and when to do it, and here, he didn’t think at all. Aziraphale helped him relax.

Smoke drifted through the room, hazy and pungent and sweet. He’d been buying from Aziraphale for over a year and he wasn’t going to stop now. Not when Friday night was a shared joint in Aziraphale’s apartment. Not when a shared joint almost always turned into something else entirely.

Something like this.

He breathed deep and closed his eyes as Aziraphale drew him out of his briefs, already pressing hot kisses to the underside of his cock. The hand under his shirt crept up to play with his nipples. Goosebumps rose all down his back and arms and he sank into the cushions, drifting on his high and the pleasure building inside him.

Aziraphale sucked on the head of his cock gently like he was savoring it. They never did this sober, but Crowley imagined Aziraphale sucked cock with the same single-mindedness either way. The hand on his torso moved to splay flat on his belly as Aziraphale took him all the way into his mouth.

Crowley touched Aziraphale’s hair. It felt like cornsilk. He thought about the trip he took to see a client in Illinois. He’d seen the cornfields. They’d seemed to go on for miles, tufts of gold among the green.

Aziraphale pulled off with a pop and tugged on his jeans. “Take these off.”

* * *

Crowley met Aziraphale through a friend at work. Like everyone at the tech company he worked for, somebody knew somebody who smoked weed and Crowley just needed to find a hookup. He’d asked where he could buy and Tim had laughed and said, “Oh, my weed guy will love you.”

Crowley had thought it would be some college pothead who thought his accent was funny.

Not Aziraphale. Not fussy, perfect, stubborn Aziraphale who ran his bookshop downtown and _looked_ like a bookseller but apparently sold boutique marijuana to all of Crowley's IT coworkers. 

* * *

“Turn over, please,” Aziraphale said when Crowley finally tossed aside his jeans. Crowley loved when he was needlessly polite. Nary a dirty word from Aziraphale. Minded his p’s and q’s Aziraphale did.

Crowley knew he was taking too long to move, but Aziraphale’s pupils were blown wide, making his eyes look huge. Crowley couldn’t look away. Aziraphale dragged his thumb beneath Crowley’s balls and said, “The sooner you turn over, the sooner I can lick you.”

Crowley groaned and flipped over. He keened at the rough texture of the sofa against his erection even as Aziraphale pushed up the hem of his henley higher, exposing the base of his spine to the cool air.

“You have the most gorgeous dimples,” Aziraphale said, straddling his thighs and pushing them together. It didn’t seem a good position for rimming but Crowley’s mind was adrift and Aziraphale’s hands were running down his spine so he didn’t care.

Two kisses were dropped onto his lower back, slow and open and wet. Aziraphale’s hands explored his back, up his spine and between his scapulae, before moving down to cup his ass. Even dulled by the marijuana, Crowley’s body lit up at the touch. Aziraphale pressed his thumbs into the meat of his buttocks, rubbing slowly, spreading him open and then gently running his hands down his thighs and leaving him wanting.

Just like Aziraphale. Such a tease.

* * *

It wasn’t that they were _dating_. It was just that Crowley spent the weekend (every weekend) at Aziraphale’s apartment. So what if he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else and hadn’t in nearly a year? Life as a project manager in IT was hectic. He travelled a lot and was busy with work.

They were just good friends.

Aziraphale was just his weed guy.

And sometimes they fucked.

* * *

“Up on your knees.”

Aziraphale moved back and grasped Crowley’s hips, pushing him forward until his hands rested on the arm of the sofa and his ass was in the air.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Pretty thing.”

Teeth nipped at his buttocks and Crowley shivered. Discovering Aziraphale loved to eat him out when he was high had been a good fucking day.

He felt the wet press of Aziraphale’s tongue and dropped his forehead against his folded arms. “Oh, fuck.”

Aziraphale’s hand came between his legs and began to play with his balls as his tongue worked over him in soft, indulgent licks, opening him up, making him loose and wet.

“Aziraphale,” he gasped. “That’s so...that’s so good.”

Aziraphale laughed against his skin and pressed his tongue inside him, fucking him open. Crowley went weak in the knees. He wouldn’t stay upright for long at this rate. He clutched at the cushions, thighs shaking, thankful for the grip Aziraphale had on his hip.

“I’m gonna come if you keep…”

But Aziraphale didn’t stop. He swirled his tongue and pressed in closer as he rolled Crowley’s balls in his hand. He could feel them going tight. He was so close and it was then that Aziraphale pulled away.

* * *

Crowley couldn’t remember who kissed who. He remembered they were arguing about languages. Aziraphale maintained French was the worst. Crowley thought English was a bastard language.

They were sitting on the couch, a Billie Holiday record was spinning in the distance, and _someone_ leaned in.

From there it had been easy. From there clothes had been shed.

It became a habit. One Crowley didn’t want to break.

* * *

“I’d like to fuck your thighs.”

Crowley grunted, barely coherent, foiled orgasm ruining his ability to think.

“On your back, love,” Aziraphale said and Crowley let himself be maneuvered. It was one of those nights then. Those nights where Aziraphale was on the sober end of the spectrum and Crowley was flying high. He liked those nights.

The fancy lube bottle made an appearance. The fact that Aziraphale kept it by the couch spoke volumes. Aziraphale undid his trousers and shoved them down around his knees. He tore off his jumper, revealing his soft chest, his rounded body. Crowley’s stomach clenched at the sight. They so rarely managed to end up fucking in a bed where Crowley had managed to properly get a look at that body.

Aziraphale slicked himself before grasping Crowley’s legs and tugging him closer so the backs of his thighs were pressed against Aziraphale’s front. He could feel Aziraphale’s cock brush against his skin before it pressed between his legs. Then his feet were hooked over Aziraphale’s shoulders and Aziraphale was pushing in and out, his slick cock rubbing the sensitive skin of Crowley’s inner thighs, the tip just appearing whenever Aziraphale’s balls slapped against his backside.

“Fuck,” he groaned, scrabbling to tug at his own cock. Aziraphale huffed with the effort of holding up his legs, a low moan echoing through his chest that almost sounded like Crowley’s name as he reached down and pushed up Crowley’s shirt, exposing the rest of his torso.

Crowley was close and the _sounds_ it was making—wet and erotic as Aziraphale _fucked_ him like this—was enough to push him over the edge, his orgasm unraveling as he spilled over his stomach. He gasped and flexed his thighs and that seemed to do Aziraphale in. He came in thick pulses between Crowley’s legs, making a mess of his thighs and belly.

After a few moments, Aziraphale let down his legs and laughed. “We can mark thigh-fucking down as a success. I liked that, I think.”

Sex-addled and still high, Crowley giggled. “I like _you_.”

Aziraphale looked at him strangely and tugged up his trousers. “I’ve got to clean you up before you stain my couch.”

Crowley watched him go and cursed himself for not shutting up when he knew the score.

* * *

Crowley woke up crumpled on the sofa as he often did when he stayed over at Aziraphale’s. He could smell waffles cooking and he rubbed at his eyes and stretched before snagging his boxers from the floor.

Padding into the kitchen, he found Aziraphale flipping a waffle out onto a stack on a platter.

“Morning,” Crowley grumbled, shuffling to the coffee pot which Aziraphale had obligingly already started. He poured himself a cup before leaning against the counter. “Need any help?”

“Um, no, but thank you.”

Crowley frowned. It had been a very long time since Aziraphale had sounded nervous in their mornings after. It wasn’t a good sign.

“But there is...something I wanted to talk to you about,” Aziraphale said.

“What is it?” Crowley asked, setting down his coffee.

“Why don’t you have a waffle?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you were going to say?”

Aziraphale sighed and shut off the waffle maker. “I know we usually see each other on Fridays—”

Crowley could already see where this was going. He’d gotten mushy the night before and fucked up the status quo. He pushed off the counter. “Right.”

“But next Saturday I have to wake up early to drive to Chicago for my friend’s wedding. Which I was hoping you’d go to.”

Aziraphale glanced between him and the stack of waffles on the counter. Then out the window. Then back at him.

“As my date.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. We’ve been having a great deal of fun, but I thought we could also have fun while...dating.”

Crowley grinned. “Dating sounds good.”


End file.
